Harkin's Tale
by BlindReader
Summary: A tale of a retired Imperial Guard veteran and his unwelcome return back into service.


Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40k. This was made for fun. R&R

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Administrator Harkin nestled himself in his pathetic cubicle, taking in what comfort the ancient cushioned chair can provide. The screen before him read a list of names and their accounts, from all their miniscule purchases to their high-risk investments. Many of the Noble families' accounts were in his charge, but the pressure of handling such precious information did little to faze him or impede upon his work.

Taking the cup of recaff in his right hand, he slurped down the hot contents. His stomach was moved with heat as the liquid traveled down his throat. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he finished his cup.

The Administrator enjoyed the little things, such as a nice cup of recaff. The very machine itself having been a gift from very grateful and generous Tech-priests. Of course, himself being oh-so-generous as well, decided to share such a wonderful machine with the others in his office. Fortunate such a machine came for their old machine failed them so many times.

Harkin took note of the accounts and keyed down the latest updates for each of the hundreds of accounts displayed on the screen. As he was busy at work, he suddenly heard one of his co-workers -a rather young petite girl- shriek at the top of her lungs.

This sparked up a whole chain reaction of heads popping up from their cubicles. The faces all perked up with curiosity, only to regret ever looking up. A shower of drop-pods came crashing down into the Hive-city, plowing through buildings, destroying the streets. As the little woman shrieked, a desecrated thunderhawk crashed through the office silencing the poor woman.

Harkin did nothing as the events of untold horror sparked around him. Too busy with the fresh cup of hot recaff to his lips. The office workers and managers all ran about in panicked nonsense as cultists and heretical guardsmen surfaced from the thunderhawk.

Las-rounds and bullets streaked through the air, cutting down the panicked people. Harkin had just finished his second cup by now, savoring the warm taste in his mouth. Hoping to get another before real trouble started, he got up from his chair and strode toward the break-room.

Co-workers rushed past him, some even shoving him aside only to ironically be gunned down. Harkin's only goal was to get another cup for the road. As he came to the door of the break-room, dodging stray bullets indirectly, he paused in horror.

A heretic had smashed the precious machine onto the ground and began to savagely crush the poor machine to little bits. Three heretical troopers present there turned their attention away from the cultist, only to catch sight of an infuriated old man. One of them pulled out his las-pistol and leveled the weapon to the old man's forehead.

"Crazy old man. Do you really want to die that bad?" The trooper sneered.

Before the trooper pulled the trigger, the old man's fist collided into the trooper's face. The trooper could only blink as his life was suddenly ended. The heretical trooper's neck twisted the other way, his stomach flat on the ground while his shocked face looked to the ceiling.

By now the other two drew up their lasguns and fired. Only to kill themselves, as the old man strode forward toward the mad cultist. The cultist stopped his shenanigans and looked to the old man.

"For Chaos..." The cultist was suddenly silenced by chop to the skull. From the cultist's mouth, a froth of blood spewed out like a waterfall.

Harkin shoved aside the corpse, his hands picking at the bits and pieces of his recaff machine. He stifled a tear, his chin quivering as he held back the sobs of sorrow.

"No...Why? WHY EMPEROR WHY!?!" He roared to the ceiling.

A heretical guardsman appeared at the door, confused as to why this old man screamed. Then again, he couldn't care less as he leveled his lasgun for the kill. Unfortunately, the guardsman underestimated the old man. Before he can pull the trigger, the old man turned around and hurled a piece of glass into his face and out the back of his skull. The guardsman fell dead.

Finished with mourning over his fallen machine, the administrator got back to his feet. His eyes burning with anger and hatred, nostalgia crept over him as he picked up a lasgun from the floor.


End file.
